


Shh-- I'm Trying to Remember You (A Ghost Story)

by corvidae9



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Character Death, F/M, minor gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-15
Updated: 2005-11-15
Packaged: 2018-09-30 10:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10161365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvidae9/pseuds/corvidae9
Summary: Draco and Luna have an odd past and an improbable present. When their already-tenuous future is destroyed, all Draco has left is to unravel why. And live through it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for nothing in particular, though inspired by [](http://tarie.livejournal.com/profile)[tarie](http://tarie.livejournal.com/)'s call for Halloween horror fics and [](http://perposterice.livejournal.com/profile)[perposterice](http://perposterice.livejournal.com/)'s ficathon based on [](http://mctabby.livejournal.com/profile)[mctabby](http://mctabby.livejournal.com/)'s Summary Executions; namely the one about Draco's child bride returning from the dead. Long way to go to say that it came from a Frankenstein's bunny of betrayal and the supernatural. Thank you ever so much to [](http://gail-b.livejournal.com/profile)[gail_b](http://gail-b.livejournal.com/) for the midway reality check and [](http://acejillian.livejournal.com/profile)[acejillian](http://acejillian.livejournal.com/) for her help at the zomg-it's-the-end-and-I'm-stuck stage. Still more thanks to [](http://merrycontrary.livejournal.com/profile)[merrycontrary](http://merrycontrary.livejournal.com/), and [](http://corvidae9.livejournal.com/197659.html#)[significant_owl](http://corvidae9.livejournal.com/197659.html#) for the kickass beta jobs. You guys rock severely and as always, I maintain that anything wonky that remains is entirely my fault. :D

The tiny blonde girl's eyes were far too bright and and about ten times too large for her face, and Draco had heard his mother talking about how inappropriate the loud electric blue sundress was for her son's birthday party, third cousin once removed or not. Still, he reckoned that she was one of very few children at his party, and the only one that seemed to be enjoying herself, and that might make her worthy of some inspection.

Rather, he 'thought' this. Malfoys did not use the word 'reckon' unless they were threatening revenge or somesuch; at least, that was what Nurse said and Nurse was always right.

Anyway, he watched the little blonde girl float from one corner of the expansive garden to another, a few times coming close to where he was hiding in the shrubbery. Draco was all of six years old today and in his mind, shouldn't have to deal with refined pats on the head from people he didn't know. Playing hide and seek with Greg and Vincent was a perfect distraction; it would take them hours to find him, if at all.

The little girl flounced past his hiding spot and Draco reached out and grabbed hold of her long ponytail, yanking her roughly into the hedge. Her huge blue eyes watered but she said nothing. Instead, she reached out and grabbed a handful of his fine, nearly white hair and tugged hard.

Draco's eyes widened in outrage, too angry even to scream for Nurse. "Ow! You don't get to pull my hair! I'm the birthday boy!"

She blinked, obviously examining him. "You pulled my hair. I was returning the favor. Is it how you greet people in your land? Daddy says that there are people in Akalska that rub noses instead of kiss and other people in the States that bump fists to say hello. Where are you from?"

Overwhelmed by the torrent of information, Draco chose to keep his answer simple. "I'm a Malfoy."

Luna had no idea what that meant, but he seemed fairly certain that it was a good answer, so she simply nodded and decided to ask Daddy about it later. "I'm a Luna. You're very pretty. How old are you today?"

Pouting a little, Draco tugged at the collar of his robes. "Six. And boys aren't pretty. They're handsome and strong and brave."

Luna nodded again. "Girls are strong and brave too. And you _are_ pretty. You're all glowy green where you're not really." Her eyes went even wider if possible and for a moment, Draco feared they might fall out all together before it was apparent that she was only just alarmed. "Oh! Daddy said not to tell people that. Ok. Never mind. You're not glowy green at all." She looked down, studying intently her shiny black shoes, mumbling, "Only, you are. But it has to be a secret."

Draco blinked again, looking at his hands and arms, finally crossing his eyes to see his nose. "I don't see it."

Stretching her fingers out to touch his temple, she smiled, "Right here. But no one else can see it, 'cept me. So you have to not tell, alright?"

Shifting from foot to foot, Draco knew what Mother and Father would call her kind of people, except he couldn't repeat it. She didn't seem all that bad, though. Thinking it through a bit longer, Draco nodded. "Ok. We should make a pact."

Confused, Luna's brow furrowed. "A packed what?"

"No dummy. A pact. That we will never tell anyone." Draco was suffused with pride. This was his first real secret. He wouldn't even tell Nurse!

"Oh." Luna nodded sagely, "Alright then. How do we do that?"

Draco thought hard, biting his lip, then a thought occurred to him, and he suddenly leaned forward and kissed her.

Luna smiled. And then shrieked, "Eww!! If you kiss boys, that means you're married!!"

"Ew. That can't be right," answered Draco with a matching look of disgust.

Insistent, Luna crossed her arms. "Is so. Mummy and Daddy kiss all the time and _they're_ married."

Draco kicked the dirt a little. "Oh. I guess it's not that bad, then." Already, he had the idea that he and Luna could live in his playhouse and Dobby could be their house elf and...

"No. I think I wouldn't mind marrying you. Your green matches my blue just right." Luna grinned happily, wondering if Daddy would buy her a fluffy white dress, and whether she could ask them to charm butterflies on it like she'd seen when Auntie Helena got married, but her attention was suddenly diverted. "OOH!" she exclaimed, dropping to her knees to examine the gap in the hedges. "Look! It's a ten-fanged Venomacula!"

Jumping back, Draco sounded more alarmed than he meant to. "No such thing. Mother and Father wouldn't allow it.

Luna gestured frantically, "Come come! Come here and look!"

Pouting again, Draco bent to look under the hedge. "That's not a Venomenaculite; it's just a branch, see?" He pulled forth a gnarled chunk of shubbery and heedless of his robes sat down on the ground next to Luna. "'S neat though."

By the time Vince found Draco, he and Luna had fallen asleep in a comic sprawl as only small children can manage, leaning on one another and the hedge, chubby fingers intertwined. Nurse magicked away the dirt from his robes before Madam Malfoy had any chance to object. Or notice, for that matter.

###

Luna's eyes were red and sore and swollen and Daddy hadn't said more than "I love you" in a week and as she stood at her mother's grave and everyone told her they were sorry, all she could do was shake their hand and nod.

For once her clothes were black.

The Malfoy family passed through the line, and when Draco took her hand, she actually felt a little real sympathy; an actual emotion behind his mumbled condolence. She looked up, trying to smile her genuine thanks, and ended up loosing one heavy sob.

Draco looked perplexed. He wanted to hold her hand until it stopped, but hesitated knowing what his father would do to him if he tried. In the moment's hesitation, Luna's father had shaken himself from his own grief to notice and hold her instead, and it was all Draco could do to squeeze her hand as her father pulled her away into a tight embrace.

His father looked to be badly concealing more than a little smugness as he led Draco's own mother, very much alive and breathing, away. Draco followed obediently, unable to shake the broken look in Luna's eyes.

###

After her Sorting, Luna happily traipsed to Ravenclaw Tower at the very end of the line of firsties. She was already receiving the looks she got everywhere, but she was not surprised. A little disheartened, true, but not surprised, necessarily. Rounding a corner, a hand reached out of the shadows and pulled her aside, another covering her mouth unnecessarily, as she had not thought to scream.

"Lovegood."

Luna's eyes lit up as she pulled his hand from her mouth and squeezed it. "Draco! I was wonder--"

Draco took a breath and just said it, despite whether he wanted to or not. "Luna. I don't know you. Have you got that?"

Brow furrowed, Luna looked at him-- hurt maybe? Was that it? "But--"

Impatient, he cut her off. "Because your family is -- they're..." Draco didn't know what to believe, but his Father said it, and it must be true. "Blood traitors. And Father says it will go badly for me if I don't disassociate myself from you."

Luna bit her lip, but continued to look him in the eye, her gaze boring through him as she spoke. "Oh. I see." The words were hard to say, because really, she did not. She only ever saw him at Important Events. How was it that anyone would even notice they were anything but acquainted? But again, she was used to this.

Genuinely regretful, Draco pointed down the corridor. "You should go. You'll get in trouble for straying."

With that, he turned on his heel and strode away.

Looking down at her shiny, black shoes, Luna mumbled, "Ok. Bye then."

###

Occasionally Luna found a sweet in her bookbag or an extra Christmas gift she couldn't account for, and while the sender was smart enough not to sign them, she knew well where they came from.

Draco was smart enough never to look at her except to laugh when someone teased her.

Regardless. The gifts stopped when she took up with Potter and after that, Draco found it necessary to taunt her too.

Luna pretended that he was a different boy named Draco, and it bothered her a little less.

###

It should have been the middle of Draco's seventh year, and he should have been roaming the halls with his Head Boy badge, fully in charge of the school. Instead he found himself standing around a dingy table in a leaky basement staring at half-baked plans and desperate Gryffindors.

When Lupin led in the latest recruit/exile into the room, Draco held his breath.

As she stepped up to join the group, Draco was the first person Luna had smiled at in weeks.

###

Lupin had a mission that needed doing had to do with advanced wards, and only Luna and Granger knew enough to dismantle them, meaning that Luna was being sent, though Granger pouted and fumed about her 'condition' not stopping her.

Cornering Luna in the upper hallway, it was all Draco could do to look down his nose and scoff. "Loony. Try not to get yourself killed. Those wards need to come down."

Luna smiled gently, squeezing his hand, not caring that he was now scanning the corridor to make sure no one was watching. "Don't worry. I'll come back."

Draco sniffed haughtily, his answer dripping with sarcasm, "One can only hope."

Smiling rapturously, as if he'd declared his undying love, Luna stepped into him and wrapped her arms around his middle, setting her head against his chest. "I know."

Despite his firmly-set sneer, one hand came up to circle her waist, the other smoothing down her unruly hair with an unforseen amount of tenderness. Pushing stray locks back from her face, he craned his neck better to see her. "You really don't care what kind of an arse I am, do you?"

Snuggling against him, she shook her head slightly. "There'd be no point in starting now. We're married, remember?"

Draco actually laughed, though slightly distracted as she began trailing kisses along his neck. "We were six. That doesn't count."

Sliding her hands up his chest, she pulled back a little and met his eyes. " _I_ was five. And one day it will."

Draco smiled, but couldn't agree. At that particular moment, the idea that he might live through the end of the month was a stretch. His doubt was clear when he spoke, even as he continued to stroke her hair. "Maybe."

Luna grinned, knowing he was humouring her-- but really? What was left?

It ended as it always did these days; with Draco tucked around Luna in his tiny bed, foot or arm or hip gone numb from hanging off of the edge or having her weight on it for too long. Nonetheless, they clung to one another like children; there was no time for anything less.

###

In the dead hours of the night Draco woke to find Luna watching him sleep and slipped his hand lazily along her bare hip, pulling her closer, his body already responding to her proximity and warmth. Hoarse with sleep and growing lust, he managed, "Luna."

Pressing her cool hands to his face, she stared, her eyes trained on his. "Shh. I'm remembering you right now, in case I ever can't look at you anymore."

With a sleepy half-frown, Draco pulled her closer still, but didn't interrupt her. Salazar knew he spent enough time staring at her for the same reason, not that he would ever admit it... even to her.

###

Luna did come back. She always did. Until the day several months later when she did not.  
Everyone at Headquarters had known about them though they had pretended not to, and no one could pretend to understand, but everyone was all too familiar with the look of thinly-veiled grief.

Draco wore it under a veneer of toxic disdain, but it was there nonetheless. Worse yet, no one responded to his barbs because they were probably 'giving him space'. At least _she_ hadn't cared. She would have-- well. The fact remained that she had loved him for who he was. And now she was gone.

In the kitchen of the house a bare week after shaking the news from Finnigan; Draco finally, truly realized that she would never return. Heart seizing in his chest, tight with grief and horror and pain, he squeezed his eyes shut and wished this reality away.

At the time, he'd been giving Molly Weasley hell for her poor excuse for a cup of tea, and the next coherent event in his mind was Molly patting his back as he sat staring unseeing at the scarred kitchen table; the edges of everything inexplicably blurred. He pulled away violently from her grasp and rushed up the steps to the room he technically shared with Thomas, though where Thomas was sleeping these days was neither Draco's business nor his concern in the least.

Scrubbing the inside of his wrist across his forehead, he refused to shed a tear. Refused. Instead picked a small ceramic giraffe up off of the antique night table and hurled it full strength against the door. Staring at the unrecognizable pieces as he sank onto the edge of the bed, he realized that the howl of pain accompanying the tinkling of broken pottery had in fact been wrenched from his own throat.

Draco lowered himself onto his side and closed his eyes, surprised to find that sleep claimed him almost immediately, with no time to be disappointed by the fact that eventually, he would have to wake up.

Luna had no use for her giraffe now. And neither did Draco.

###

_"Your name was on my lips when he slit my throat."_

Draco woke so violently, he nearly catapulted from the bed, his hair plastered damply to the side of his face despite the chilly air, breathing in short, harsh panting gasps.

Vivid. Fucking hell; vivid. Luna. Tendons of her delicate neck exposed, flesh cleanly split, blood running down her body, spreading on her clothes and pooling at her feet.

Horrified, Draco tried to breathe, but the image would not fade as dreams tend to do. Blindly reaching for the water usually on the nightstand, his fingers closed around something cool and smooth. He held it close to make it out in the gloom, but once he felt the bumpy horns upon its head, he didn't have to look at it to recognize the shape.

The giraffe sat whole and unbroken in his shaking hand.

###

Draco rushed down the hall, banging on Lupin's door with no regard for the hour, as he had no idea what time it might be. When no response came, he banged again, more loudly. Just as he raised his fist to repeat the process, the door cracked open a peek, Lupin's hand running through his tousled, graying hair. Expression ever more concerned, Lupin opened his mouth to speak, but Draco cut him off immediately.

"Who was with her?"

Clearly confused, Lupin blinked. "What?"

Draco had no patience for this. "Luna. Who was with her when she--"

Pain flashed quickly in his eyes and Lupin looked down. "Seamus. But he--"

"Who did it?"

"Draco, you can't go rush--"

Fingers clutching the door frame, the other hand flat on the door, Draco leaned into the crack and snarled, "WHO FUCKING DID IT?!"

Lupin furrowed his brow, obviously studying him and Draco wished that he would just stop and bloody well say something. He didn't care that they'd discussed it once before; Draco needed to hear it again.

Sighing, Lupin crossed his arms over his dressing gown. "Bellatrix Lestrange. She... must have caught Luna offguard while Seamus was scouting the perimeter. By the time he found her... it was too late."

His own crazy aunt. Draco spat her name like a curseword. "Bellatrix."

Lupin reached a hand out to squeeze his shoulder. "Listen--"

Draco shrugged the hand off, not understanding why everyone thought that touching would help at all. Expression hard, he snarled, "I don't need your sympathies, werewolf. Just your information. You can go back to shagging my cousin now." With that, Draco stalked down the corridor, continuing downstairs to the kitchen.

Bellatrix. He _had_ known that.

But Luna in his dream said 'he'. She said that 'he' slit her... fuck. He couldn't even think it.

He poured half of a cup full of cold tea and cast a warming charm on it as he reached for the bottle of firewhiskey with which to fill the cup the rest of the way.

###

Cool hands brushed his cheeks and he smiled in his sleep, beginning to stir and reach for her. Mumbling, he reached out. "Luna."

As if from far, far away, he heard her murmur, "Shhh. I'm remembering how you look."

And this time there was no violent start, only the gradual realization that he was leaving this dream behind for a reality without her, breathing in the still-sharp pain of her irrevocable absence.

He wished he'd been able to be better for her. Less caustic. More honest. Less afraid of what others thought. But those were just more regrets to try and shake off along with the numbness in his legs from having slept the remainder of the night in a sitting room chair.

###

Draco strode into the kitchen, empty teacup in hand to find Lupin and Granger murmuring in heavily-weighted, hushed tones.

The conversation died immediately as Draco strolled to the stovetop as casually as he could, even managing a proper sneer. Haughty as ever, he drawled, "Oh. Dear. What exactly could the topic of conversation have turned to at this hour of the morning?"

Lupin cleared his throat and pasted on a smile that turned Draco's stomach. "Good morning, Draco. Sleep well?"

Filling his cup from the teapot, Draco gave Lupin a cursory glance over his shoulder, along with a harsh bark of what might have been laughter. "Oh, Yeah." Teacup full, he spun slowly on his heel and leaned against the opposing counter. "Slept like the dead."

Granger flinched, her tired, red eyes belying her own agitated state; though really, Draco couldn't care less.

Fidgeting with his cup, Lupin looked uncomfortable. "Right. Good- I mean... Draco. We're all very sorry for your loss; we loved her too, but I know that--"

Draco narrowed his eyes and pulled away from the counter in a vaguely menacing manner, his voice both hard and cold. "You know nothing. You presume too much."

To his credit, Lupin stood taller, not about to be threatened. "It may benefit you to speak to someone. There are some of us who truly understand what it's like to lose someone. And-"

Utterly disinterested in whatever else Lupin had to say, Draco cut him off again. "What would benefit me is for you to find something for me to do that does not involve being locked up in this pathetic excuse for a headquarters. Before I find something with which to occupy myself instead."

As Draco turned to exit the small kitchen, he heard Granger mumble what sounded like 'you'd think he actually gave a rat's arse about her'. His own movements were a blur as he turned again, grabbing her by the front of her shirt and shoving her back against the counter with his free hand, teacup held clenched in the other. "Do. Not. Presume."

Jaw set, unspeaking, Granger met his eyes without fear, daring him to do something. He knew well that her wand was already trained on his sternum, and yet, he was still tempted. Regardless however of both that and Lupin's inane 'soothing' words, he released her with a final shake (not as hard as it could have been) and stepped back, taking a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving hers. "Granger. Lupin."

With that, he left the room, back straight, head held high.

###

Once again in the second floor corridor, he stood reluctant to open the door onto the empty room. _His_ room, not _their_ room; Not that it had ever been, technically, though it might as well have been. Another regret intrinsically related to all the others, he supposed, but still...

His hand lingered on the doorknob a moment too long and a movement out of the corner of his eye turned his attention away.

Impossible.

He rubbed at his eye with the heel of his free hand. He had _not_ just seen long blonde hair turning the corner because she was gone, and there was no reason she would come back to haunt this place, and no one else had hair like that.

A glint of something metallic shone on the floorboards where he had seen her-- or rather, not seen her, in front of the half-shut door of yet another of the occupied bedrooms at the end of the corridor. Swallowing hard, he took a step toward it, and then another, until he found himself standing over...

No. Yet again, impossible.

He crouched and prodded it: a delicate silver bracelet, hung with a pendant that he did not have to check to know that it was charmed to wax and wane along with the actual phases of the moon. He'd bought it for her last birthday, for which he'd had ten riot acts read to him by Lupin and McGonagall for sneaking out without telling anyone where he'd gone.

Speechless, he closed his hand around it; the metal warm as if it had been held close to her skin until only a few moments before.

"Oi. Alright there?"

Draco shot to his feet, sloshing tea from the forgotten cup dangling from his fingers, pulling the bracelet hand close to his body. "Finnigan. What do you want?"

Seamus stood in the doorway clad only in a t-shirt and boxer shorts, one hand ruffling his sandy, sleep-tousled hair. "Should ask you the same thing, mate. You're the one opened my door."

Brow furrowed, Draco shook his head slightly, "Your door was already open, Finnigan." He stared hard, pushing away the mad thoughts that surfaced; he was after all, the last person to see Luna alive- the one who failed to save her; Lupin should have know he was an incompetent.

Yawning, Seamus clamped his hand on the door, widening his stance, as if bracing for trouble. "Wasn't. The feckin' draft was what woke me. Did you want something or not?"

Yes, absolutely. Draco wanted to pry his mind apart and extract every last memory he had of Luna that night; physically, if possible. Jaw tighly clenched Draco shook his head again, for once at a loss for a caustic remark. "No."

Seamus nodded, "Right then, sod off". And with that, he shut the door, leaving Draco standing perplexed next to a puddle of tea, Luna's bracelet clenched in his hand.

Finnigan. Draco couldn't shake the image of Finnigan holding his Luna. Finding her body. Had she been entirely gone when he reached her? Or had her life slowly finished bleeding from her body in the arms of a friend? Though certainly Finnigan had been less of a friend to her than even the other cretins here. Surely, everyone seemed to like Luna, though her oddities continued to set her apart. For the most part, no one gave her trouble, but when the snickering did follow her, wasn't it Finnigan usually at fault and Thomas close behind?

But the bracelet. Why in front of Finnigan's door? Was there something that he hadn't said; some detail he'd left out?

Where else could it have come from?

###

Lupin and Granger saw fit to leave him to his own devices yet again for the remainder of the day, which suited him well. Not so coincidentally, Potter and Weasley had returned (whole and unscathed, no less) from their latest caper and Draco retreated to the relative safety of his room to avoid the noise surrounding Saint Potter's safe return.

Rationally, Draco understood that Potter had a tangible place in the order of things. It was his job to kill Voldemort. Rationally, Draco knew that this would benefit all involved, including himself, which is the entire reason he was holed up here to begin with. There was only one great flaw in such reasoning.

Draco no longer cared.

It may have seemed very un-Slytherin of him, at first glance, but it wasn't so much that Draco wanted to die. It was more that he didn't give Granger's rat's arse whether anyone else did or not. Not anymore.

###

Her voice came from a little further away and he wondered if she'd gotten up to get another blanket or maybe use the loo, but he was comforted nonetheless.

"Remembering is always easier when the thing you're trying to remember is nearby."

He smiled and pulled her closer as she settled next to him and pressed her lips to his forehead. Warm and soft and the only thing he had left other than himself; he'd meant to say it for so long, but now the words tumbled effortlessly forth. "I do love you, Luna."

"I knew."

Draco's eyes shot open as he scrabbled backwards on the bed, slamming into the headboard as he did so. For a moment he could swear he'd actually seen her there.

A faint light spilling through the open door (that should not have been open to begin with) was bobbing and shifting; a sure indication that its owner was still moving down the corridor.

Wand already in hand, his bare feet hitting the small rug only briefly as he made his way to the door across the cold floorboards. Clad in only the ludicrous luxury of silk pyjama bottoms, the draft roused goosepimples along his flesh but he paid his attention instead to peering carefully around the doorframe. The light disappeared into Finnigan's room, the door shutting it away with a soft click.

Padding down the corridor, Draco finally whispered a _Lumos_ as he approached Finnigan's door, brow furrowed. Something strangely familiar yet hopelessly out of place seemed be clinging to the doorknob, and Draco reached out and touched it. Rubbing what appeared to be a fine powder between his fingers, he brought it up to smell it, the consistency already haven given it away.

Floo Powder.

Frowning at the closed door, Draco extinguished his wand and returned to his bed in the relative darkness. As he pushed the door shut behind him, he examined it more closely, noting nothing at all wrong with it. But the fact remained that he _had_ left it shut and locked.

###

Lupin knocked on his door at exactly eight AM, only to find Draco dressed and reading a treatise on the use of Dark Magic in combat situations.

"Draco. I was wondering if I could have a word."

Draco rolled his eyes and stepped back from the door, holding it open as courteously as he could manage. "Do come in."

Lupin entered the room with a gentle, friendly smile that sickened Draco; more because he knew it was genuine. Making directly for the two small chairs set near the narrow window, Lupin gestured toward them. "Shall we sit?"

Arching an eyebrow at him, Draco didn't bother answering. "Can I help you?"

Serious, but sounding not at all put out, Lupin acknowledged his answer with a single nod. "I'm sending Kingsley out tonight to tap into a clandestine exchange of information between Voldemort's people and at least one ranking Ministry official; we only know it's occurring, but not why or what's being discussed. Are you in any shape to go out with him?"

Shacklebolt was not altogether an idiot, fairly capable and more quiet than all of his miserable Gryffindor compatriots put together. By 'tap into' rather than 'disrupt' or 'stop', Draco knew that this was meant to be a simple mission meant to gauge his reaction to being asked to participate and his readiness for such. Expression unchanged, he lifted his chin a little.

"I'll be there."

"Good," Lupin nodded again, "Good. Kingsley will be by at seven-thirty to make sure you're in place and concealed well before anyone arrives. Did you have any questions?"

Shaking his head, Draco sidestepped back to the door that he hadn't moved very far from to begin with. "None. I await seven-thirty with bated breath. Are we done?"

Looking down at his clasped hands, Lupin said, "Ah. Yes." Briefly, he turned his gaze toward the beds separated by a night table, looking as if he wanted to say something else. Draco braced for another well-meaning inquiry regarding his health that surprisingly never came.

As Lupin exited the room, he couldn't help patting Draco's bicep once. "Thank you, Draco. We'll talk later."

Draco sneered at his retreating form for a moment longer before shutting and locking his door again. Palm to the doorframe, it occurred to him that if he was going to be up half the night listening in on crooked politicians and Death Eaters, he should likely get some sleep. A quick glance to his perfectly-made bed made him realize that this was not going to hap--

Wait.

Upon second inspection, Draco's breath caught as he realized something liquid was seeping out from near the head of Thomas' untouched bed. Heart hammering in his chest with unnamed fear, he approached the bed bending slowly to look under the antique wood frame.

Nothing. And the 'puddle' was not seeping; a quick touch confirmed that it was merely an aged stain on the wood. Releasing the breath he was holding, he straightened-- and immediately fell back onto his arse, gasping and cursing.

Luna. On the bed. Just like he'd seen her before. Bloody; split open; eyes wide and staring. Only now she was gone.

Shaking violently, Draco pulled his knees up to his chest, scrubbing the palm of one hand over his face. A hollow almost-laugh rang though the empty room as a thought occurred to him: Really- if he was going to go mad now, he'd prefer it wasn't Luna's mangled corpse that he saw for rest of his life... no matter how short a time frame that might encompass.

###

It was apparent that not even his room was a comforting place to lie low, and when Draco was able to draw himself up off the ground he decided to make his way to the library. At least there he would be safe from most of the cretins.

Stepping out of his room and striding down the hallway, a sudden shout caused him to turn on his heel, wand at the ready. He could be mistaken, but he was sure it had come from behind him... and the only open door was Finnigan's.

Carefully hugging the wall on the same side of the corridor as Finnigan's door, Draco slunk up to his room, rapping once, sharply. "Alright there, Finnigan?"

He heard what he thought was a muffled sob; distinctively male and comprised mostly from what seemed to be terror. Just one; followed by the clearing of a throat, and Finnigan's voice, raw and scratchy. "Fine. Sorry."

Draco rounded the doorway and stood in the threshhold, finding Finnigan standing in front of the bureau, hands clenched on the edge, knuckles white, head down. "Clearly? You do not appear fine."

Finnigan looked up, his face completely drained of colour, as if he'd seen a gh--

Mouth dry, Draco looked at him. "You saw her." It was a statement, not a question.

Shaking his head violently, Finnigan murmured, "You're mad. I didn't see anything."

Draco wanted to hex it out of him. Or failing that, shake it, beat it, pummel it out of him. Advancing a step further, he narrowed his eyes. "Finnigan. Don't fucking lie to me."

Finnigan's wand came up lightning-quick with a step forward, and facing him close up, Draco could see that he was pale, his lip shaking. "I didn't. See. Anything."

Tilting his chin up, Draco looked down his nose at Finnigan as best he could, restraining the impulse to kill him where he stood, like a common Gryffindor might. The problem here was that however much Draco suspected, he couldn't prove anything other than the fact that he might be going mad.

Draco took one step back before turning on his heel with a sneer and exiting the room, leaving the door open behind him while he plotted exactly how to extract the information from Finnigan.

###

He spent the morning alternately attempting to read about intangible revenants, ways to get his hands on Veritaserum, coercion spells that didn't involve _Imperius_ and staring off into the distance trying not to contemplate Finnigan or Luna or anything else for that matter, trying desperately not to make the connection that his mind was making. A long time ago, he would have gone to the only person he'd ever trusted for advice and perhaps a reality check. But Professor Snape was long gone and Draco was used to doing things on his own.

After only a few hours, he found that he was no closer to finding an answer, but there was one thing of which he was certain of, though he wished he was not: Finnigan was holding back on something that he had not told anyone else regarding the night Luna died. Furthermore, it was entirely possible that he'd been in some way responsible.

Draco set his book on the shelf and sighed heavily; willing the day to pass into night, for Shacklebolt to get his arse over here so that they could get this over with. Making a conscientious effort to not check the heavy grandfather clock every five minutes or so, he was therefore startled when the door opened, oddly missing the deep, dusty stacks at the Hogwarts library where there were places one could hide properly. Which was ridiculous, as he was not hiding; he was avoiding.

Worse yet, it was Granger that had come knocking, so to speak.

Poking her head through the door, she drew herself up and walked in, her long-suffering know-it-all expression firmly set as she shut the door behind herself. As if the words hurt to say, she cleared her throat, addressing Draco from at least ten feet away. "Malfoy. I- There's lunch. Molly made a tray of sandwiches and Tonks managed to scrounge up ingredients for at least two of Molly's famous salads."

Looking at her as if she was completely mad (which it was obvious that she might be) Draco cocked one eyebrow at her. "Excuse me?"

Granger rolled her eyes, opening her mouth no doubt to say something predictably self-righteous, but instead closed it, pursing her lips momentarily before continuing with obvious difficulty. "Listen- what I said in the kitchen yesterday... It was out of line. I-- um. I'm sorry." Clearing her throat again, she added, "...and there also happens to be lunch. In case you're interested."

Alarmed, as he could not recall Granger ever having apologized to anyone in his hearing --save for sarcastically--, Draco furrowed his brow at her. "So it's the end, then."

Furrowing her brow right back in an entirely unattractive manner, Granger looked at him as if he was mad. "What?"

Draco levelled his most haughty gaze at her. "Only the end of the world would reduce the all-knowing Granger to apologizing to anyone, much less the iredeemably evil Malfoy."

Granger puffed her chest out and narrowed her eyes. "Fine. Whatever. I said what I needed to say. Choke on it."

Watching as she turned to exit in an obvious huff, it occurred to him that she was acting even more intolerable than usual, not that it was his concern. As she suddenly turned again at the door apparently ready for more dramatics, he arched an eyebrow. "Well?"

Visibly seething, she said, "You know, you're not the only one that's going through this. The rest of us are still trying to function."

Draco found himself snapping more bitterly than he intended, "What the fuck would you know? Your Potter and Weasel manage to make it back every bloody night, don't they?"

Granger's fists were planted firmly on her hips. "Yeah? And do you know where Dean is, then? Your own bloody roommate?" Her voice grew louder and more unsteady as she went on, "He's not on a mission; he's missing. Gone. Went out and never came back and no one wants to say he won't. So shut your mouth. You don't know anything about me."

With almost a smile, Draco drawled, "So _you_ were the one shagging Thomas!" Willfully cruel, offhand; he gestured to her barely distended middle, "Or I suppose he was the one doing the actual shagging, unless that thing there isn't hi-"

Fairly shouting now, Granger replied, " _Shut your god damned mouth, Malfoy!_ " Her eyes were beginning to look glassy as she added in a low snarl, "You didn't deserve her." With that, she slammed the library door behind her, leaving Draco alone in the large room, suddenly much colder than it should have been at this time of day.

Oddly, Draco thought the same thing. And if he was agreeing with Granger, it _must_ be the end.

###

At some point in time, he sauntered out of the Library and slipped into the kitchen by way of the back stairs, taking a sandwich with a surly 'thanks' to Molly and ignoring her offer of salads and who knew what else. Retreating to an unoccupied sitting room on the uppermost floor, Draco was no longer surprised at how anyone could begin to feel trapped here.

Seven-thirty came and went; the book in his hands on the same page as when he began staring through it. Frowning, he stood and dusted his trousers off, he stalked downstairs, meeting Lupin at the top of the second flight.

Lupin's jaw was set but his voice was still irritatingly even. "Kingsley has been detained on Auror business that we can't extract him from without suspicion. Are you still willing to go?"

Walking into a mess of Death Eaters and Ministry officials was not appealing, but without a large, imposing Auror it seemed utterly ridiculous. Nonetheless, he answered in his best disinterested tone as he continued down the stairs past Lupin, "As I have no prior engagements, I suppose I might deign to do so. Perhaps I may even be more effective without being hampered by another delusional Gryffindor."

Lupin's voice followed Draco down the stairs. "You're not going alone."

As Draco rounded the last short landing, he caught sight of Finnigan leaning in the doorway of the foyer, smoking one of his filthy cigarettes. Suddenly, it seemed less odd that Shacklebolt was not available.

Actually, Draco would be surprised if Shacklebolt ever made it back to this particular corner of hell ever again.

###

Lupin gave them all the information that they needed; locations, names, times, and though they were running late, they arrived twenty minutes after eight; theoretically in plenty of time before the one AM exchange.

The two men found themselves standing on the back porch of the ruined Mayor of Hogsmeade's estate, eyeing each other warily, still shimmering under their Disillusionment charms. Finnigan nodded toward the door. "G'wan then."

Draco took a step sideways, taking his eyes off Finnigan only briefly as he tapped the door with his wand checking for hexes or traps. Finding none, he pushed the door open carefully, extending his lit wand into the dark and partially burnt-out kitchen ahead of him, half-looking ahead, half-watching Finnigan, who was just now making to follow him with a surly grunt.

Up ahead and to the right in the corridor leading to the servants' quarters, Draco found the basement door just as Lupin's instructions had indicated they would. After prodding it further, he shoved it open, inclining his head to indicate that it was now Finnigan's turn to proceed.

Finnigan shook his head slowly. "You're something, you know that?"

Draco scowled, staring hard, forcing himself to keep up this farce on the off-chance that he was wrong about Finnigan. "Move. We've got to be well in place before any wards come up."

With a rude gesture, Finnigan cocked his chin and began down the stairs, wand drawn. Draco gave him a four-step lead, then waved his wand in the direction of the kitchen floor to blow ash and dirt across their footprints and pulled the door shut.

At the foot of the musty stairwell, Finnigan paused, peering cautiously about before casting a weak _Lumos_ and stepping into the gloom. Nodding silently, he began to inspect the room. Draco shook himself slightly, trying to convince himself that this place was no more suffocating or imposing than Headquarters, and began circling the room in the opposite direction. The scuffing of Finnigan's shoes was the only sound for what seemed like miles.

It appeared that the basement had for the most part remained untouched by the conflagration of curses that had destroyed the interior of the manor, though most everything appeared broken and looted. Stepping carefully through and over the splintered wineracks, Draco set his jaw, casting suspicious glances in Finnigan's direction.

Finnigan called quietly across the room, "Oi. Malfoy. Think I've got the spot."

Draco frowned into the semi-darkness, straining to see past his lit wand, on utter edge, _Expelliarmus_ on the tip of his tongue as he made his way to where Finnigan stood.

Instead, Finnigan pointed his wand toward a heavy crate that had been set against the wall, bolts of fabric and smaller, equally destroyed boxes spilling forth, jagged pieces of china protruding from the punctured side facing outward. Draco watched as Finnigan shifted it a foot or so aside and ran his wand along the wall, murmuring, "We could expand a niche into the foundation here and cover it with a half-tangible glamour and those bloody Auror-level anti-detection spells. Should get an earful and the bastards'll never know we're here."

With a harsh intake of breath, Draco forced himself to step closer. He had to agree, this was a good location for surveillance, though the prospect of sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with Finnigan for the rest of the night made him wonder exactly how either would survive the experience. Still, he nodded and mumbled something noncommittal, and Finnigan raised his wand again to begin to create the hollow in the wall and into the foundation.

Had Draco not been waiting for it, Finnigan might have caught him by surprise when the wand pointed at the wall suddenly swung around to point at him. As it was, Draco's waiting _Expelliarmus_ was out of his mouth before Finnigan realized what was going on, and he hit the rubble hard, wand lost somewhere in the darkness. Draco followed it with a full-body bind, leaving only Finnigan's head free as he strode up to the still-dazed Gryffindor and kicked him once; a hard, solid hit to the ribs that connected with a crack, before crouching next to him, wand at his throat.

Simply, through teeth clenched from the effort of not cursing him into oblivion, Draco leaned in over Finnigan's shaking body, speaking directly into his face. "Why?"

Finnigan was obviously in pain, his breath ragged as he gasped out a reply. "Fuck you, traitor. You'll have to kill me; I'm won't talk."

Furrowing his brow, Draco pressed the point of his wand further into Finnigan's flesh. "You should know that I plan to. Why Luna?"

Shaking his head once, vehemently, though his eyes went wider and Draco could feel him gulping for air. "I told you; I did my best, but she was gone by the time I got there." More angry, he lifted his head with a heroic effort and continued, "O'course, was your people that did it, yeah? Should take it up with them."

Confused, Draco pulled back a little. "What the fuck are you talking about, Finnigan?"

Frustrated, Finnigan rocked, struggling against the body bind, only succeeding in gasping in pain, his face blanching. " _You_ , ferret! Dean told me everything! He found out you were working for V-- Him! And how you tried to have him killed! How you've been passing information and spying for them!"

Draco's jaw dropped as he shook his head, parsing the information; Granger's tirade now replaying in his mind. "Finnigan, when-- when exactly did you speak to Thomas?"

Finnigan spat at him, grinning ferally, "That's right. He's still alive. Lupin and Hermione had him meet me and Luna for that very mission, but the thing was fucked before he even arrived. Been laying low, contacting us whenever he can." Grimacing, he added, "Should be glad she died before she found out what kind of a two-faced bastard you are."

The ground fell out from beneath Draco, or perhaps it was his stomach that was approximating the feeling, and he stood, grabbing Finnigan by the shirt collar and hauling him up. Nauseated, he knew they had to get out and get the information back, exchange be damned (if there even was one). "Finnigan, listen to me with all that's left of your feeble mind. I am a traitor to no one but my own family. Thomas is answering to neither Lupin nor Granger... and..." He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to process it all. "...I-- I'm going to release the binding. And then we're going to get the hell out of here, do you underst--"

A movement in the shadows near the base of the stairs caught his attention, and Draco whipped around to face it, wand hand extended as a shouted curse sent a jet of green light flying past him and slamming into Finnigan.

"Finnigan!" Draco shouted and shook him once, but a cursory glance at his wide, empty eyes as much as the lack of resistance and increased weight told him that it was too late. He let go of Finnigan's shirt and lunged behind the nearest support as the body slumped to the ground, barely avoiding a second spell, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he recognized the caster's voice.

"Bloody shame. Seamus was a good man, and a good mate. A bit simple, but Gryffindor, through and through. I'll miss him, I think."

Draco stood pressed to the support, his wand held close to his chest and wondered if Thomas was alone; wondered what Voldemort had promised him, and what, if anything, he'd already delivered. Considering the ease and lack of thought with which Thomas had just dispatched his purported best friend, Draco was fairly certain that Thomas was in deep and must have been for quite some time. Quietly weighing whether he could take him alone, Draco came to the rapid conclusion that he was in all likelihood well and truly fucked.

And as such, he had nothing to lose.

He heard heavier steps on the basement stairs and knew then that Thomas was definitely not alone. He likely had just enough time to cast a spell or possibly two before being surrounded and overpowered, and as much as it pained him, there was one specifically that came to mind that needed to be performed first.

Thomas' voice rang through the still basement again, sounding just a touch closer. "Come out, Malfoy. Your beloved aunt misses your company so, and I did promise to try and bring her a gift. I won't hurt you. Yet."

Draco took a deep breath and held a precious memory close; several really; _{Luna, kissing his forehead; Luna warm in his arms, pale skin glowing in the thin path of moonlight tracing across his room; Luna whispering in his ear and tracing his collarbone with her fingers, her legs tangled in his; ... Luna at five, snuggling into his side against the hedges and telling him that she liked him no matter if he pulled her pigtails or not}_ and sent his Patronus flying off with a concise message directly to Lupin.

The ethereal crane burst forth from his wand and disappeared through the wall, and Draco was immediately sent sprawling as a blasting curse tore through the support behind which he stood. His hands came up to shield his head and neck from the falling debris; the foremost thought in his mind being that at last, he might have done something worthy... and it was clearly overrated.

As the pulverized plaster and shattered wood settled around him, Draco found that he was huddled against the box of fabric and broken dishes, the largest chunk of the collapsed support not five inches from his face. He could vaguely make out shapes in the gloom beginning to circle the room; at least four that he could see, one heading directly towards him.

Draco attempted to Disapparate and found it completely impossible-- anti-Apparition wards, of course. Pushing away the momentary surge of panic, he instead murmured a modified _Protego_ which would likely block all but a Killing Curse. Pulling himself up into a crouch, he tried to keep his eyes on all of the figures in the room at once and struggled to breathe evenly. There was no way he was walking out of this, but he sure as hell wasn't going alone.

Thomas spoke again and Draco shuddered involuntarily. He'd never liked the prat; Thomas had been just another bloody Gryffindor with too much bravado and not enough sense to keep his mouth shut; but his voice was now haughty and edged with something dark. It was too knowing-- too wrong. Draco knew that tone; Theo had it down pat the day he'd accused Draco of being a Mudblood sympathizer. The day Draco stupidly had a moment of weakness and confused Theo for a friend, and consequently mumbled something about not knowing whether he could follow the Dark Lord; not knowing if he wanted to follow anyone at all, really.

That was not the day it all went to hell; it had been the day it was apparent that Draco was already there.

"Malfoy. Do you see how low you've sunken?"

Unconsciously, Draco lifted his chin and sneered, though Thomas still likely could not see him in the shadows. "You're the Halfblood Gryffindor serving the Dark Lord."

Thomas took another step forward, wand trained in the direction of Draco's voice. " _He_ will purify us and make us stronger and better than we ever could be on our own. All Lupin could give me was that fucking piece of shit old house on the losing side of a war."

Furrowing his brow, still waiting for Thomas to make a move, Draco tightened his grip on his wand. "I see. And did anyone explain that when this is over, you'll be little more than a lackey? If you survive?" Not of course that any idiot like Thomas had ever thought far past instant gratification when pledging their allegiance to a madman.

"You're wrong. I _am_ valuable and I _will_ be rewarded. I eliminated Lovegood for him. I've returned the Mistress' wayward nephew. Once I've taken care of Hermione, those fools won't have a brain among them. She's been a bit of a trickier proposal, since they won't let her leave the house. I may have to blow my cover to take care of her." With a small, mirthless huff of laughter, Thomas continued, "Guess I should have thought of that before I knocked her up, yeah?"

Draco's stomach turned, the blood rushing through his temples so loudly, it was a miracle he heard anything after _Lovegood_. Through clenched teeth he snarled, "Your cover's already blown. You have to know that's the message I sent - not even you could be that stupid."

More genuine, darkly amused laughter followed and Draco was filled with rage and indignation as Thomas spoke again. "Who's going to believe you over me? Especially when they find Seamus dead and you mysteriously gone? Speaking of which--"

A full-body binding curse smashed against Draco's shield charm; one which he was now too distracted to maintain properly. The second and third from opposing sides easily dispatched what remained, and hit him in the chest respectively. He slammed back into the wall and bounced directly forward onto the ground, face first, unable to move, eyes wide, head spinning.

The irony of his position was not lost on Draco as his eyes slid over Finnigan's body nearby. A foot turned him over none too gently, and he found himself staring at Thomas looming over him, his face obscured by a sickeningly familiar mask, recognizable only by his voice. "Two down..."

At that, there was what sounded like a crackling hail of boulders; the tell-tale sound of a large group of people Apparating at once and obviously very near. What wasn't apparent was how, given the wards in place, though the question was driven from his mind as he heard a low murmuring, followed immediately by sections of the basement ceiling suddenly disappearing. A handful of unidentified wizards dropped through the new openings while several more stood at the edges, wands trained on the Death Eaters in the room.

As curses began flying, the last clear image in Draco's mind was Thomas crouching over him, wand to his throat. That, and the unmistakable sensation of two warm, familiar hands covering one of his. Draco shut his eyes and let Thomas do his worst... as if he had a choice.

###

A _Finite Incatatem_ sounded from very, very far away.

A hand. On his arm, pulling him to a standing position, dazed. And then it was Potter shaking his arm and babbling, as the idiot was wont to do.

"Malfoy? Malfoy! Bloody hell. I think he's lost it."

Yanking his arm away, Draco sneered automatically, murmuring, "Get off of me, Potter," though without Potter's grip on his arm, he nearly fell over. Dizzy, overcome with nausea, but not about to show weakness in the face of Potty and his compatriots, he steadied himself on the nearby wingchair, fingers clenched tight around the tattered back. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Potter arched an eyebrow and turned away, calling out, "Never mind. He's fine."

Following Potter's line of sight, Draco realized that the room was crawling with Order members; Brown, Smith and the Weaselette crouched near Finnigan's body; Lupin holding a wand on two bound figures lying stiffly in a corner; several others further away that he had trouble recognizing in the haze that he wasn't certain was atmospheric or in his own vision. He easily made out Granger glaring nearby, eyes red and haggard, bundled in a large brown coat, Weasel at her elbow trying to tell her to sit, to calm down.

Draco cleared his throat with what became a hacking cough, the dust in his throat and lungs seemingly coming up all at once. Doubled over, hands on his knees, the coughing became retching as the events of the last few hours began to settle over him, oblivious of Potter stepping back to make room for yet another gawker. He didn't bother to ask what had happened.

A delicate hand touched his back and he started violently. His head whipped around and caught sight of spiky, bright purple hair and an expression of sincere concern; Tonks, of course. "Oi. Alright there, little brother?"

Disgusted, Draco's words were as toxic as ever, but his tone was lacking the necessary force to properly convey anything but shock and pain. "Don't fucking call me that."

Tonks shrugged it off and held her hand out to him. "Fine. Let's see that hand."

Glancing down, he realized that his dirty trousers were stained with blood under his left hand. As he lifted it to her mechanically, the thought occurred to him that the wound was the shape of a crescent moon, and it was all he could do to laugh. Harsh and bitter, it was a sound more of sorrow than of joy.

###

And that was how it ended; with the Order storming in to save his sorry arse, Finnigan dead, Thomas on his way to Azkaban-- if he even made it there after after a long, forceful chat with Potter and Weasley and possibly even Granger. A chat somewhere dark and soundproofed, and removed from rules of civilized behaviour that the Golden Trio upheld so nobly, without regard to the fact that Draco himself had laid claim on his life. Not that it mattered.

Draco sat in his room for lack of anything better to do, at a loss, the taste of Veritaserum still clinging to the roof of his mouth. Had he expected a shimmering cloud of light? An angelic chorus ringing in his ears for his bloody stupid heroism and tenacity? Perhaps merely not to walk away in one piece?

Perhaps just that she would come to him once more? If she'd ever come to him at all, that is. If it hadn't all been his imagination or intuition or Salazar knows what.

Draco was beginnning to understand, however, that it was all entirely pointless, and it had been from the start. The War would rage on quietly minus a few casualties from each side and when it was over, half would be reviled and the other half praised. This was no different from any other war, and Draco was an idiot for having been convinced that he would be better off getting involved to begin with. He should have run far and fast with the last of his hidden trust fund as had been his first inclination.

As the insipid positive thinkers liked to say-- better late than never.  
Draco pulled his valise from the wardrobe and began filling it with his things, trying to decide where exactly he should go next while ignoring the twinge from his bandaged hand. Somewhere with sun, he thought.

Somewhere Luna would have wanted to go, too.

###

Draco slipped from bed and dressed quietly in the wee hours of the morning. He left a note this time on Lupin's door; terse, yet as courteous as he could bring himself to be. Yes, he was leaving. No, he was not joining the Dark Lord.

No, he was not coming back.

Shrinking his valise, he slipped it into the inner pocket of his heavy winter cloak along with a small, ceramic giraffe as he slipped out of the back door and Disapparated.


End file.
